


We're Coming Undone

by DaringlyDomestic



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [21]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringlyDomestic/pseuds/DaringlyDomestic
Summary: Based on two prompts: Soul Bonds & Coming Untouched





	We're Coming Undone

Sherlock had never given much thought to the idea of finding his soulmate. He’d just assumed he didn’t have one, or that they’d already died.

There was a new theory that some of the Unmarked (those without a physical manifestation of a soul bond) were not truly mate-less. Some research had shown it was theoretically possible that when a person’s soul mate died before cementing the bond, the black and white soul mark would fade from the person’s skin. 

Sherlock had no memories of ever having a mark, but he could not exclude the possibility. It could have happened at any time between his birth and his first conscious memory. He was sure Mycroft would not have catalogued him for such a sign.

He couldn’t understand the world’s obsession with soul bonds. People insisted on bringing it up at the most inconvenient times, and it was almost as popular a topic as which football team would win the cup this year or which idiot was currently prime minister. Useless.

John didn’t have a soul mark either, not that Sherlock had ever seen anyway. He supposed it could be somewhere that clothes usually covered, but he’d seen John in various stages of undress throughout their acquaintance. He never directly asked, but he was sure John was Unmarked too.

Not that it mattered. Sherlock didn’t give any credence to such things, but it was nice to know that he needn’t wait around for some faceless spectre to swoop in and steal John away.

Sherlock’s left foot spasmed as he came back to reality. He’d spent too much time locked in his mind palace. He stretched along the length of the sofa. The popping and cracking of his joints was oddly grounding. He held his left wrist loosely in his right hand and moved it in a circular motion. When the joint was pleasantly loose, he switched to the other wrist.

John sighed from across the room. Sherlock was surprised to find that he looked apprehensive. They’d spent a reasonably quiet evening together. John had been reading a reprehensible action novel, but it seems he’d finished it while Sherlock was thinking. It had taken Sherlock only a few seconds to deduce that the story was a trashy romance masquerading as a thriller, and that it would culminate in the realization that the main spy duo were soulmates.

John usually enjoyed these types of novels. Sherlock surmised they were an emotional release for him, a way to escape the constraints of everyday life. Not this time, however.  John’s brow was crinkled, and storm clouds brewed in his gaze, turning his usually serene blue eyes into a storm of dark navy.

“Do you ever wonder?” John asked.

Sherlock wasn’t sure he understood the question. _Did he ever wonder?_ Of course. He was a scientist. His mind was an endless stream of questions needing answers. But it seemed like John had a more specific query in mind.

John’s gaze was steady despite his obvious misgivings in starting the conversation. Several minutes passed, and Sherlock could not discern the true question.

“Sometimes,” he murmured truthfully.

John nodded but seemed frustrated. It hadn’t been enough of an answer.

“I don’t put much stock in that stuff.” John gestured at the novel.

Did he mean fictional thrillers/action adventures? Or romance? Or soulmates? All of the above? Sherlock couldn’t tell. He couldn’t make sense of the conversation, and he had a sense that John was hoarding some of the facts. 

John cleared his throat and levered himself out of his chair. “It could be nice to see a physical sign that you’ve met your person.” John walked slowly toward Sherlock. “I can see the appeal in that but…”

John knelt at the head of the sofa, so that his face was level with Sherlock’s. The detective had to remind himself to keep breathing. He searched John’s face hoping for an indication of John’s intent.

“I didn’t need a mark to tell me that.” John’s voice was steady as he pushed Sherlock’s curls back from his face. “I knew the moment I met you.”

John’s lips are warm and softer than Sherlock expected. There are cracks where John chewed them – indicates anxiety. John had been thinking about this a lot, then. He’d agonized over it. Sherlock darted his tongue out to trace the grooves.

John’s mouth opened to welcome him inside, and their tongues intertwined. At that moment, a shock ran along Sherlock’s spine, his skin prickled, and he felt a warmth building inside himself. He pulled John closer, but it wasn’t enough. He broke away with a whine.

John giggled and manhandled him so that he had room to climb onto the sofa and settle himself over Sherlock. John fit against him perfectly. Every dip and hollow of Sherlock’s body welcomed John.

John kissed and nipped along Sherlock’s chin, paused to suck at his pulse point. Sherlock moaned long and low. He couldn’t keep his hips from trying to grind against John’s, but John held himself up and away. John was an unexpected tease! Pleasure zinged through him. He could already feel himself dripping in his pants.

He knew this time wouldn’t last long. He cupped John’s cock through his jeans, and John sighed. He threaded his fingers in Sherlock’s hair sealing their lips together. Sherlock unzipped John’s trousers enough to slip his cock out, not bothering to try to take them off. He licked his own hand before wrapping it around John’s throbbing erection.

Sweat dripped from Sherlock’s brow, and John’s face was red with arousal as he fucked into Sherlock’s fist. He whined, high and needy, and Sherlock gave him what he needed. He ran his palm over the head of John’s cock, smearing his precome over the shaft. The result was a tight, wet slide that had John cursing.

John's cock grew impossibly harder in his hand, and Sherlock felt his own balls draw up in his pants. His eyes widened. Was he going to - ?

John came with a grunt and licked a wet stripe up Sherlock's neck. That's all it took. Sherlock was coming hard, soaking his pants, and cringing at himself. He'd just come in his pants like a bloody teenager. 

But when John nestled his hot, ruddy face into Sherlock's neck and breathed against his skin. It didn't matter. Sherlock was sticky and uncomfortable, but he'd lay there forever if John would only stay. 


End file.
